There's the paragraph. And you shall have a share of the gold for yourself. “Yeah. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh. Taber. And you’re as clean as fire. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. Stanley was inclined to think the censorship should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth. She rang again with the same result.
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